


Not Quite What I Expected

by Artezeous



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Drinking, Drunk Shenanigans, Exes, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hawaiian Shirt, Past Relationship(s), Stranger Things 3, Stranger Things 3x02, Stranger Things Spoilers, drunk, i love this man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artezeous/pseuds/Artezeous
Summary: You expected a date with one of the most popular guys from your days at Hawkins High. However, when things fall flat, you recognize someone you weren’t quite expecting.





	Not Quite What I Expected

**Author's Note:**

> It is late. I am tired. But I love, love, LOVE Jim so much. And I miss him. 
> 
> I want to write some sort of prequel to this (with more preparation and detail) about MC and Jim in high school. Maybe if enough people support it, I will. Or I will anyways, because I love Jim that much.
> 
> Ipromisemywritingisntusuallythissloppy.
> 
> Instagram: @_artezeous_

* * *

Standing in front of your dingy motel’s bathroom mirror, the room smelling of stale cigarette smoke, you apply the final touches of your makeup before primping your hair nervously. Your hair, fluffy and tall, holds enough hairspray to be considered a fire hazard. But it looks perfect, and with an eye as critical as yours, perfect _means_ perfect.

You purse your lips after applying another coat of lipstick, spreading the makeup. Puckering them, you kiss a wad of toilet paper, removing the excess. Moving to shift your dress, which will be worn once more in just a few days time, you can’t stifle your smile. For the first time in years, you feel _good_ about your looks. And why shouldn’t you? The last time you put so much effort into a night out must have been high school, back when your ex-boyfriend took you to his Junior prom, despite the fact that you were only a freshman. Over two decades of self-conscious thoughts roll off you as you admire your appearance.

As you grab a matching handbag, your eyes glance at the motel room’s cheap alarm lock: 7:20 p.m.

How did the time go by so quickly! Only ten minutes to get to the restaurant, and the idea of being late sends you panicking. Hastily, you exit the motel room, the door loudly shutting behind you. Muttering a string of unladylike curses as you hurry down the stairs in heels, you awkwardly shuffle to your car. The panic squeezing your chest worsens when your car stalls, only to disappear when the piece of junk _finally_ works.

“Oh thank _God_ ,” you sigh, tilting your head back with relief. Checking the address Katie Pines gave you the day before, you drive to the restaurant, possibly running a red light or two in the process. Luckily, parking is easy to find, though the sudden closing of many shops surrounding the restaurant may have something to do with it. You should ask about it once you find Donnie.

Upon entering the restaurant, the sound of violin music—something classical, you note—fills your ears. Couples fill every table, and your heart soars at the idea of becoming one after tonight—assuming things go as spectacularly as you anticipate.

“Would you like a table?” asks the hostess, flashing a youthful smile. “Or do you have a reservation?”

You shake your head, suddenly bashful. You return the smile, albeit more sheepish. “I’m looking for someone. I’m sure I’ll find him in a second, though.”

She nods with understanding.

_A navy blue suit jacket and a red rose_ . Once you find that, you find _him._ To think Donnie Sullivan, the most talented basketball player of your year, carried a torch for you all those years ago? And he wanted to talk to you after so long? The thought made your legs weak. Yet after multiple glances through the restaurant, no one matches the description Katie gave you.

Your heart sinks. It was foolish of you to think that after so many years, Donnie Sullivan would be asking you to catch up at dinner. And how foolish were you to believe that from Katie Pines—the girl that made your years at Hawkins High a living Hell? It was all too good to be true. You and Donnie ran in such different circles back then. You dated a boy notorious for smoking and cutting class, while he could get any girl’s name with a smooth smile and flick of his comb. Why would someone so _perfect_ remember someone so _imperfect?_

You should go back to your motel room. Free cable and your crusty floral comforter sound like heaven compared to this. Maybe you can order a pizza, too. You no longer feel the childish excitement from a mere thirty minutes ago, when you were back in your room primping your hair. Instead, you feel like a fraud dressed in such nice clothing. Hurt, you prepare to turn back.

_Just one more look_ , you tell yourself, still clinging to desperation. _One more look and you can go back to the motel and forget about this._ And though you don’t find the man you expected, you find someone familiar nonetheless. Your breath hitches, the feeling of betrayal replaced with the dull ache of loss and recognition.

He aged, just like you. He gained weight, you notice—not that he looks horrible with the extra pounds. No longer the broad-shouldered senior from years ago, the boy always dressed in his favorite band shirts, he dons a and mint-colored buttoned shirt with light pink flamingos and wears it well, a khaki jacket over it. With his legs crossed, he smokes a cigarette; he is the only one smoking in a room full of doting couples. Yet you can’t blame him when you notice the seat across from him is empty. And with his mustache and hair combed, you can only assume he expects someone like you did—or he expected someone. The hope must have withered away a while ago for him to look so angry and hurt.

That can’t be his first glass of wine.

Approaching slowly, your smile tightens with uncertainty. You don’t expect him to recognize you. For God’s sake, you can’t even know for sure it’s him. Do you want it to be after such painful goodbyes?

* * *

Only sixteen, with him barely eighteen, you sat on the hood of his rusting, beaten car with him beside you, fingers interlocked with his so tight one would think the two of you would never touch again. And to you, that might as well be the truth as the two of you rested on the hilltop. The spring air, nearly summer, filled with the scent of his cigarette as it rested in between his teeth, releasing a tiny string of polluting smoke. After so long together, the scent no longer disturbed you.

You wiped your face with your shirt—or rather his. The sweatshirt swallows your form, sleeve soaked in snot and tears. With a loud sniff, your bloodshot eyes shift to your smaller hand clasping his larger one. “We could write letters.”

One hand pulled his cigarette from his mouth, exhaling smoke. The other ran through his wavy, smokey blond hair. His head tilted to look at the stars above. “Shit, babe, you know stuff like that rarely works.”

“It worked with my grandparents,” you insist. “When my granddad went overseas.”

“That’s different. He didn’t get to _choose_ to go.” Frustration begins to roll off him.

“I don’t get to choose to go,” you mumble.

His eyes soften. Releasing your hand, he pulls you into a sideways hug. “I know.”

Things weren’t supposed to get this hard. He planned his Senior year to be relaxing and care-free. He thought being nice to _one_ Freshman last year wouldn’t do anything. Magically, you weaseled your way into his friend group so subtly he couldn’t be mad by the time he noticed. And with even more subtlety, you weaseled into his heart. Here he sat, the longest relationship in his young life crumbling. _Look where all that sentiment gets you_ , he thought.

“I don’t want to go.”

“I know, babe.”

“I want to stay in Hawkins with you.”

“I know.” It was all he could say, and he hated it. He never knew how to handle girls outside of kissing and hooking up. Comfort was far from his emotional range. But he _tried_ . Never one for maturity and wise words, he sobered up for a moment—just for you. He thought of what you _needed_ to hear from him. “But you need to give it a try. You shouldn’t stay in Hawkins forever. And who knows? Maybe you’ll like it in Georgia.”

He doubted it. You did too.

“You could come,” you tried. “School’s almost over—”

“You shouldn’t be stressing out over shit like this.” He sucked in a breath, chest tight. “You’ll be a Junior, yeah? It gets stressful sometimes. And you’re moving. You don’t need me there. You’d never branch out.”

“You promised you’d take me to my prom—”

“Fuck, I know.” It killed him that it hurts him as much as it hurts you. “But...things change. Sometimes promises are broken.”

You opened your mouth to reply when a pair of headlights blind the two of you. A car door opened, then slammed shortly after, the figure of your mom blocking some of the light.

You jumped, looking at him with betrayal and mortification. “You _called_ them?”

There was no way they would know where to go if he hadn’t called them. Emotions hit you too fast to process as you gazed at him, mouth open wide. So _that_ was why he took so long to get out of his bathroom when you showed up at his doorstep.

Your mom never moved, only begging you to come back home. You looked between your parents and him, face twisting with uncertainty.

“You need to go with them,” he urged, sliding off the hood of his car. He flicked the butt of his cigarette aside, crushing it with his shoe. Grasping your shoulders, his blue eyes never held such conflict. “Babe, go home. You need to go to Georgia.” His breath hitched as his grip tightened. “And I can’t come with you.”

* * *

Wine and cigarettes do not mix well, Jim learns. But damn it because it is _Jim’s_ wine paid for by _Jim’s_ paycheck and will be finished by _Jim_ alone, even if it kills him.

When did his life take such a bad turn? Was it his drinking? Was it when he and Diane finalized their divorce? Or before that, when the light of his life closed her eyes and never opened them. Or even _before_ that, when Jim just _let_ his first love walk away (or rather, _move_ away) and never did anything about it?

_All of these and more at eight_ , he thinks as he swirls the glass. That’s what the pompous asses on TV do, right?

He wonders if you’re still in Georgia.

“Jim? Jim Hopper?”

Blue eyes snap up from a half-empty wine glass to meet your own gaze, and your smile relaxes. With eyes as pretty as those, you know it’s him. Even after so long, he still has the same exaggerated eyebrow raises when thrown off guard. It makes you giggle.

His mouth opens, then closes. Opens, then closes, unable to voice whatever thoughts swimming in his head. Did he not recognize you? After so long, you couldn’t be upset, especially after being so unsure if it had been him. Maybe you made a mistake, and this isn’t Jim. But he looks _strikingly_ similar to the photo Chrissy showed you. You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts off the start of your introduction by stammering out your name. “O-oh my God, I didn’t know you were back in town.”

The cigarette is put out in an instant. The words come out a mixture of surprise and almost horror. Did he summon you with his _mind_? Of course this is how you see him, nearly drunk and hung up over Joyce not showing up, even though he said this _wasn’t_ a date! But all thoughts of Joyce dissipate as he stares at you, breaking into a nervous sweat. Still as pretty as you were in high school, you stand before him like an eighties queen. He licks his lips, mouth dry and palms sweaty against his light blue jeans. He doesn’t know what else to say, an utter idiot as he continues to stare.

“It’s just for the week,” you sheepishly explain. It’s him! You couldn’t be more relief! “Carlotta Daniels is getting married. Who would have figured, right?”

Jim’s shoulders loosen as he releases a breath. He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I heard a while back. Some guy working at the mall.”

“There’s a mall?” Your face immediately brightens.

“Yeah, sit down. I’ll tell you about it.” He waves a hand, then suddenly freezes mid-gesture. He nearly slaps himself for being so stupid. “But you’re probably waiting for someone.”

You shake your head, sitting down across from him. “Plans changed. You?”

Jim nods stiffly. “Me too.”

You grin. “Then tell me about the mall.”

Sitting down leads to ordering an entree. According to Jim, the mall just kind of _happened._ No one expected it to actually be built, and once it was, businesses were cut down left and right, replaced by impersonal chains. An entire street closed in a blink of an eye.

He tells you where he’s been all these years. At first, his replies are close-ended and tense. However, over time, Jim lets new details slip through the cracks, and you greedily hoard them. You work your way back into his inner circle, just like the old days.

He was drafted for Vietnam while you were away. As soon as his time was up he “hauled his ass out of there.” Jim claims he’s coping just fine, but you knowingly glance at his glass of wine when his words slur slightly.

An ex-wife named Diane and the beautiful daughter he had with her comes up, though the pain and discomfort radiating from Jim begs you to ask about something else. His eyes flash you a grateful look before rattling off Hawkins graduates. Joyce had two beautiful boys, though the husband never stuck around long enough to appreciate them. Bob passed unexpectedly, and the way Jim averts your gaze as he tells you this informs you something isn’t quite right. Though sharing openly, the look in his eyes tells you something dark is hidden in that head of his. Had something shaken the town while you were away?

But everything unsettling is forgotten at the mention of adopting a daughter.

“How old is she?” Excitement radiates from you, eyes lighting up.

“Fourteen.” He fishes a tiny photo from his leather wallet. You beam at the sight of the girl. Brown hair reaches just past her ears in the photo. She smiles awkwardly, unlike Jim, who always wore a troublesome smirk in photos. Jim’s chest swirls with immeasurable pride at your gushing. “But whatever happened to you? Any kids?”

“No, no kids.” Rubbing your naked left ring finger, your heart aches. You inhale, taking in the scene around you. “I stayed in Georgia, went to college. I never married, though. I just kind of...existed, I guess. It was nice existing, don’t get me wrong.”

“You never came to visit anyone,” Jim points out.

Your brows raise. “And you know this _how_?”

Jim shrugs, smirking. His blue eyes gleam. “I’m chief of police. I know everything.”

You huff, leaning back. “I just...couldn’t see myself stepping back into Hawkins after such hard goodbyes.”

“Should’ve stayed away while you had the chance,” Jim comments dryly, earning a playful eye roll.

“I should have come back sooner,” you retort. “I missed everyone for so long. I missed all the big moments—weddings and _kids_. But I didn’t feel like I was one of them anymore, I guess. I didn’t get to graduate with everyone. And it’s petty _now_ but meant a lot when I was younger. I liked it here, but maybe I just remember it that way—all perfect and happy. And now the town _isn’t_ so happy.”

By now your plate is empty, as is his. Though full, you feel lighter than air.

His lips quirk into a smile. “I missed you, too.”

You lightly nudge him with your foot underneath the table.

He insists he pays for the check, and you pay the tip in return. Walking down the street in a summer’s breeze, Jim slowly begins to sober up from his many glasses of wine. You laugh when he nearly trips on air, your own head fuzzy.

“So what were you—” he scratches at his face “—doing in a place like that if you’re just here for Carlotta’s wedding?”

“Katie Pines—she was in my grade—said that this cute guy had carried this torch from all these years for me. And said we should meet.”

“Cute guy?” Jim asks with a lazy smirk, tone joking. “Were you checking out other guys behind my back?”

You bump his shoulder. He nearly tumbles. “Of course not. Never looked at anyone but you. But I still wanted to know what _could_ have been.”

“So who was the guy?”

“You wouldn’t know him.”

“Hawkins is small, sweetheart. Try me.”

You hide behind your hair as you murmur it. “Donnie Sullivan.”

Jim throws his head back and cackles, causing you to jump. He laughs until he’s clutching his side, wiping away tears and catching a breath. “That bastard? Trust me, you didn’t miss much. He didn’t even get a scholarship ‘cause he wouldn’t get his head outta his ass long enough to take his tests.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, it gets better. He went bald by thirty—wears one of those wig things—”

“A toupee.”

“Right, _that_. And it’s like a rat is on his head. And it doesn’t even cover it all either.”

For a moment, you’re silent. But an irresistible grin curves your lips. “I think I dodged a bullet.”

Jim wheezes another laugh. “You dodged a _shower_ of bullets. His business was one of the first to go when the mall popped up. I heard he’s a janitor.”

“Jim,” you scold sharply.

“Don’t _Jim_ me,” he retorts, bumping into you harder than you had him. You stumble. “He’s an ass. And it’s—it’s his loss that he didn’t get to see how nice you look tonight.”

Your face reddens, heart beating faster. Unsure of what else to say, you murmur a thank you, comfortable silence falling between the two of you. It almost feels like twenty years melted away, and the two of you are how things used to be. The two of you once walked down this very street as teenagers, hands laced together and eyes warm with pure affection.

“There’s, uh, a big bash coming up,” says Jim, breaking the silence. “Something about getting votes for the mayor’s reelection campaign. You should stick around for that—uh, if you want to.”

Your eyes soften, watching Jim rub his hands together in soothing circles. “I’ll be there.”

”Good. Yeah, that’s really good. We could talk more or something, too, if you want.”

Your heart flutters with something familiar from all those years ago. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” he repeats. Under the lights of streetlamps, it appears that Jim is smiling.

On this side of town, all the shops are closed—some for the night, others permanently. No one, not even another car, is out, save for you and Jim. It feels like the end of the world, an ending where you and Jim are left to stumble drunkenly down the sidewalk for all eternity, cracking jokes and laughing loud enough to wake the whole town.

And as you watch him stumble, hooking an arm around his to keep him afloat, you wonder if that would be such a terrible fate.


End file.
